


Genji's Retribution Diary

by Freebooter4Ever



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Genji writes a diary, NO ROMANCE JUST CATHARSIS, genji and jesse bffs, minor Mchanzo in the background, timeline from genji in the hospital till the beginning of Retribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebooter4Ever/pseuds/Freebooter4Ever
Summary: When Genji wakes up in the hospital with his entire world fractured, his one outlet becomes a sparkly pink diary with a fluffy carrot orange pen. He pours out all his anger, and chronic pain, and difficulties adjusting to both his new body and this new team he appears to have joined called 'Blackwatch'. Most of the diary is complaints about the weird cowboy who follows him around and seems to be Genji's handler, but Genji also meets the rest of the Overwatch crew and even his brother makes an appearance during Blackwatch's mission to Italy. Genji is not happy about any of this, though he finds ways to enjoy it. - "I told the doctor that if she had a body that’s this well sculpted and sexy, yet breaks no public exposure laws, she’d refuse to wear clothes too."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Genji's Retribution Diary

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU to Ilyn (ao3)/RevolverWaffle (tumblr) for editing!
> 
> quick note: a lot of this is from personal experience, I went through a short period of about a year where my face and to a lesser extent my body was covered in scars. They would ooze, they would scab over, they would stretch my skin to the point of it being painful to talk or smile. People made a lot of comments - I was painful to look at, I was a little bit ugly, I didn't look like myself anymore. I spent a lot of time just being angry at everything, the physical pain clouded all my thoughts. So I'm channeling all that into Genji here because I really liked the anger and sarcasm in him they hinted at during his Retribution voice lines, and I wished they explored that more.

Dear diary,

The doctor says if I refuse to communicate verbally, I need to write how I feel instead. To reach a catharsis, or something. She didn't define what she meant by "feel". If she means emotions, there is no room in my body for emotions at the moment. Literally. At least 80% of me is gone. I can barely fit my digested food in here. They're feeding me through a tube. As a result, the doctor has had to severely limit my diet. Not enough room.

And if there is no room in this body for hamburgers, there is no room for emotions.

Only for pain. And a constant dull roar in my brain that sounds a little like:

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH [repeated keystroke redacted for the next ten pages in digital transcription of handwritten letters].

No fucking room for feelings.

Dear Diary,

You know what makes me the most angry? They didn't even let me pick my color. They gave me a new body, welded me into it, and I didn't even get to choose red or green. Let the record show, I would have picked green.

Today I wrote "my body is ugly" on the mini white board they gave me and held it up in protest. The doctor looked at me with such a mournful expression, I realized she might've taken it the wrong way. So I crossed it out and put "I hate red" underneath. I'm not ugly. I'm not my body. Red is ugly. Then she understood.

It's so hard to make people understand even simple things now.

You don't realize how much communication relies on the face until no one wants to look at yours anymore.

Dear diary,

My protest sign didn't change anything; my feeding/air tubes are still red and the indicator lights all over my body still glow like Rudolph's reindeer nose. The doctor apologized and mumbled some explanation about team colors and solidarity, but she refuses to change anything.

She seems to think letting me pick out the color of my new notebook and pen somehow makes up for this. I picked a glittery pink diary. With a heart on the cover. As far away from the color black as I could get. To spite them. And to remind them that though I may now be a tin can, I still have a beating heart.

There may be no "i" in "team", but there's no "team" in "Genji" either.

Dear diary,

There isn't a lot to do in the med bay except think.

Bits of my memory are black holes. Holes I don’t even know are missing until I try to access them. People ask me questions or bring up things that I don't know I recognize until I recognize them. And when I do get that sudden terror of memory, it's like diving into an ice covered lake in the middle of summer. A bit of a shock. But also a feeling of sudden clarity, no matter how it hurts. It's usually a relief, knowing I am able to remember even if I don't enjoy doing it.

I blacked out the night of the Incident, probably from all the pain.

The next image in my memory bank is a giant black cowboy hat. A leathery one, with a purple sheen, and a narrow brim. In my memory it takes up my entire field of vision, as if this hat was the only thing my brain could understand right then in that helpless state.

The hat was all I could see, like a giant party topper holding together an indistinguishable, amorphous black mass. And then the hat lifted and I met the man assigned to be my orientation counselor. Like I’ve started college. Or gone to summer camp. Or joined a cult.

The cowboy's eyes were wide and naive looking, with the kind of face obnoxious aunts enjoy pinching the cheeks of. But his eyes quickly narrowed when I held up my sign with the word "howdy" written on it. I think he thought I was mocking him. He was correct.

It was fitting, seeing a cowboy first.

A samurai cut me to pieces and a cowboy was there to get me stitched back together. It’s 1869 again. I have woken in the past but my body is the future.

Dear diary,

The cowboy’s hair is the consistency of straw and the color of dirt, I can see why he hides it underneath an antiquated hat. The hat lessens the ugliness in comparison. I wish someone would give me a hat to hide my face under, or perhaps a paper bag.

People keep talking at me slowly, like I'm half awake or can't understand them. I grabbed the doctor's tablet and wrote “Fuck You” in large letters over all her notes. I suppose I could prove my mental competence by letting them read this diary but I refuse to give Doctor Perfect the satisfaction of knowing I'm taking her advice.

Dear diary

Cowboy Shithead appears to be an immutable fixture in my life. I’ve tried ditching him multiple times but he definitely earned his position in Blackwatch special ops. He is completely unshakeable.

I guess I don’t mind too much, he’s the only one who treats me the same as anyone else and doesn’t avert his eyes or stare longer than necessary.

He also knows all the gossip and scandalous history of everyone on base; from illicit affairs to botched missions and dubious pasts. And he can tell all the stories with artful gestures and added sound effects. I strongly suspect at least half of the stories are embellished beyond recognition, but it helps pass the time in my hospital bed. The latest one was some bullcrap about a baby gorilla living on the moon.

I'm not entirely convinced I  _ haven't _ joined a cult.

Dear diary,

Some nights I can’t sleep. With darkness comes flashes of silver blades appearing out of nowhere to cut me to pieces. I can feel the phantom pain crawling along the lines of my scars, like dragging nails over skin. It makes me want to itch, but scratching metal plating is an exercise in futility. 

Sometimes the pain is replaced with a pressure in my chest, like every nerve is trembling.

It makes me feel so weak.

My brain is not something I can physically train into submission. I can’t perform rote exercises to force my thoughts to quell the memories. I can’t hack my brain and make it work properly.

Instead I lie awake and endure.

Dear diary,

Occasionally I wake up and Cowboy Shithead is there watching me. He says the doctor makes him do check-ins.

I asked him if he was naturally this creepy or if this was extra special just for me.

His half baked answer was that no one else on the base screams as loudly as I do in my sleep.

So I guess that means I'm special.

Dear diary,

Apparently I can hack my brain. Well, my body can be hacked which helps my brain. Doctor Perfect caught me lying on the medical ward floor one evening. I told her I intentionally climbed out of my bed and spread myself across the ground. My body felt like it was overheating and I was drawn to the cold linoleum. Except Doctor Perfect took my temp and said all my vitals were normal, and there was no physical evidence of my hardware fans malfunctioning.

Instead she tweaked a few settings in my chest plate, and now if I start feeling weak again, this soft whirring noise starts up and it slowly suctions all the tension out of my mechanical parts and artificial muscles, like an overly large toilet plunger. Or at least that's how it  _ feels _ , even if these sensations are only in my brain. Something called chronic anxiety.

Her method works. I am suddenly able to sleep well. 

A calm, peaceful sleep, like that of a self-satisfied wealthy man who has hoarded riches and exploited laborers in order to preserve his own longevity.

Cowboy Shithead thought that the above metaphor was spine chillingly specific and he wondered if I had anyone in particular in mind. I stared at him until the question and ensuing awkward silence became unbearable for us both. Some subjects should be avoided.

I hate talking about my family.

Dear diary,

How do you mourn your own death?

I asked Cowboy Shithead and he helpfully pointed out I’m not dead yet. I rolled over in the hospital bed to face the wall and tried to pretend I was. Pulled out a few tubes which sent Doctor Perfect into a tizzy.

I’m not dead, but I still haven’t fully decided if I want to be.

Dear diary,

Somehow it has been six months. Time has never gone so fast or so slow. I feel as if my mind is frozen, while my body is accumulating more years than it should. Nothing has felt solid, memories from the past few months come with a ghoulish haze. And if someone asks me about something that happened, I’m always shocked to learn that it was real. And not simply a very strange dream.

I feel a little like a ghost, set apart, watching, not participating.

Dear diary,

I accidentally used Cowboy Shithead’s nickname aloud this afternoon. In front of both him and our superior, who was visiting me for the first time. Commander Reyes laughed so hard he cried. And the Cowboy looked so shamefaced that I no longer have the heart to refer to him by it. He can’t help that he inherited such an ugly hair color. At least, no more than I can help my resemblance to Santa's lead reindeer.

Plus Jesse has started bringing me his share of dessert from the mess hall every night, so I think we’re friends now.

Dear diary,

For the first time since I arrived, they let me leave the medical ward on my own.

My body shut down in the middle of the lunch line. It was accidental, my batteries merely ran out of charge. But it made me realize what exactly having half my body run on electricity meant. Luckily Jesse happened to be carrying one of those cell phone charger bricks, so he plugged me in and the power failure did no damage. Except to the plate of mashed potatoes, pork, and beans I was carrying at the time. I dropped it on the floor when things went dark. It was a mercy killing. Nothing is worse than meat and potatoes. Except maybe more meat and potatoes.

Which is what they gave me after bundling me back to the hospital bay to recharge under Doctor Perfect’s supervision. I tipped the hospital tray onto the floor too. Tried to make it look like an accident. Except the doctor is both astute and harshly uncompromising, and she refused to give me anything else to eat.

I had to starve until Jesse stopped by after his training with his slice of mango pie from dinner.

Dear diary,

I am becoming more creative in choosing where I lose power. By " _choosing_ " I mean the routine goes something like this:

  1. The annoyingly bright LED starts blinking green at me every fifteen minutes. This is irritating for about an hour.
  2. Eventually I get to the point where it becomes second nature to ignore it.
  3. Then it changes to yellow.
  4. Then a half hour later it turns to red. This is when I finally notice it again and go sprinting to my room only to collapse somewhere along the way.



Stalwart Jesse usually finds me and helps me back to the hospital. Doctor Perfect is growing frustrated. She’s tried everything to get me to remember to recharge before it hits the blinking red light. She's switched the colors of the lights, activated noise reminders, given me variously shaped objects that vibrate. Nothing works.

Until the day the worst happened. I was on my way to recharge, and I had to pee really really bad. The light had only just turned red, and I knew I had a choice. I either had to use the bathroom, or plug myself back in. I didn't have time to do both.

Now, an omnic with more experience than me at the whole cyborg thing probably would have deduced that logically I should have first recharged and then, with more juice in my system, gone to relieve myself.

But my human brain was telling me that if I didn't do something IMMEDIATELY, I was going to burst. So I went pee. And passed out on the toilet halfway through.

No one found me until after one of Reyes’ especially long inter-departmental briefing meetings when there was a rush on the bathroom, making all the stalls necessary. Especially long because the only thing that will make the blonde bombshell Strike commander from Overwatch give  _ longer _ speeches is if Reyes is sitting in the back of the room making snide comments. Not that every single one of those comments isn't deserved. It's just that four hours is a long time to sit without bathroom privileges. Hence why some desperate soul peeked into my occupied toilet stall to see why it was taking so long, and then hollered for Jesse.

Anyway, Doctor Perfect says I must get in the habit of recharging every night while I'm sleeping. 

I hate routine. And I only enjoy habits if they are vices. Keeping a regular charging schedule sounds altogether way too much like responsibility.

On the other hand, I do not want to live up to Cowboy Shithead's nickname and end up with my face in a toilet bowl one day.

Dear diary,

I am turning my charging port into a shrine. Objects procured from every place I have unexpectedly lost power have been sacrificed at the base of the great electric plug.

Jesse says the toilet seat is unhygenic, but he still promised not to rat me out about who stole it.

My favorite memento is the baseball I caught while fielding for Blackwatch’s game against Overwatch. My red light was blinking again, but we were in the final inning. I scaled the nearest lamp post, launched into the air, and caught the gorilla's insanely high hit. I also then blacked out and crashed into the ground so hard I dislocated several tubes, but my vice grip on that ball remained. It took Overwatch’s engineer twenty minutes to invent a machine to pry the baseball out of my hand. It was worth it though. The big furry gorilla was out, and we won the game. Jesse found an extra long extension cord so we could plug me in while also carrying me around the field cheering. 

This is the first time Blackwatch has ever beaten Overwatch at baseball. I guess nobody has ever been fast enough to catch one of Big Furry’s home runs before. Usually he hits it so far they count the ball as lost and buy a new one. Jesse says afterwards the Overwatch coach was eyeing me. He claims they probably regret not accepting an ex yakuza into their ranks now. Jesse sounded proud.

I'm still confused about how a gorilla who spent his formative years living on the moon learned baseball. 

There’s no gravity there. It is physically impossible to throw things properly.

Dear diary,

I have named my charging port. 

Jesse thinks this is weird. I informed him that I’ve never been this intimate with a thing and not known it's name. If something is going to be regularly stuck inside me, I am going to name it. Jesse mumbled something about this being unnecessary and never naming no sex toys.

I don’t ever want to know what Jesse does in his free time. That'd be like finding out your brother watches porn. Intellectually you know he does but you don't want to Know he does.

Anyway, Jesse can’t talk, he named his gun peacekeeper. At least my sword is just a fucking sword. The irony of Jesse McCree, an ex gang member turned black ops infiltration agent, naming his weapon anything to do with “peace” is almost as bad as someone who names a weapon “Storm Bow” because he thinks his pet dragons commune with nature. When in reality the dragons are spirits manifested of his teenage emo angst.

The dragons form from intent, they sense when someone’s heart isn’t in it. They cannot attack when the person attacking doesn’t want to hurt the target. This is why I got chopped to pieces instead of obliterated in both body and spirit. He didn't actually desire my death, so the dragons were unable to hurt me. It’s the only reason I haven’t hunted him down and killed him yet.

I just fantasize about it sometimes. To relieve stress.

Anyway, after Jesse teased me, I turned on my best playboy charm and asked Jesse what name he gave his  _ real _ weapon. Said my cybernetic body could show him a better time than some nameless toy. Jesse’s brain short circuited. It was entertaining to watch. I don’t think he is used to being hit on. I imagine that hat is quite the deterrent for casual hookups.

Hopefully it’s cured him of bringing up his sex life in conversation. Some things I never want to have lodged in my brain.

I also informed Jesse that under no circumstances was he to ever refer to my charger Zapados in a sexual context ever again. Jesse looked confused by my name choice so I explained to him that sometimes I feel a little like a pokemon - sent out to battle but kept contained safely inside my ball otherwise. Like people only value me when my powers are needed.

Jesse told me this analogy should make  _ me _ the pokemon and therefore I should have named my charging port “Luxury Ball.”

I suggested Jesse go have fun with some of his toys and leave me alone.

I should probably take more pity on Jesse, if he thinks Blackwatch’s dorm rooms are “cozy” or “friendly” enough to be considered a "Luzury Ball", I shudder to think what circumstances he must have grown up in.

Dear diary,

After accidentally swapping two vital tubes on my body, I’ve decided to mark which one is which. I bought colorful stickers to help me learn to tell them apart. They’re neon rainbow stickers from the last century with kittens, unicorns, and dolphins outlined in a friendly pink made by someone called Lisa. Jesse had to put them on for me because I cannot reach far enough behind my back.

Jesse says I have good taste in stickers so I gave him the leftover sheets even though they’re vintage and very valuable.

You would think having a mechanical arm would mean greater dexterity and flexibility, but no. The doctor says the joint articulation must be natural or else my nerves will get confused. Or something.

I think my nerves could handle a bit of confusion perfectly fine but apparently I am not enough of an expert to have some say in my own body's construction.

Dear diary,

Gabe has had a rainbow unicorn stuck to the bottom of his left gun for three days and he still hasn’t noticed.

The recruits know exactly who is responsible for the sticker. But everyone has a healthy respect for Blackwatch’s resident cowboy so no one has said a word so far. Even though the unicorn stares at us with accusing eyes everytime Gabe shoulders the gun to waltz around and give his morale boost lectures, unwittingly displaying the sticker for all to see.

Dear diary,

During muster today Gabe almost lifted his gun high enough to see the sticker himself. The entire squad held their breath. Gabe has been particularly bombastic and showy lately, I think he is enjoying the unusual high level of attentiveness to his speeches.

When he finds out our rapt attention is due to everyone waiting for Jesse to be discovered and for shit to hit the fan, Gabe will be so disappointed.

I'm so excited. I can't wait.

Dear diary,

Gabe made eye contact with the unicorn for the first time today. They stared at each other for almost a full minute in a standoff. And then Gabe continued on with his speech as if he never even saw the sticker on the bottom of his gun.

But Jesse got assigned running laps later. I told Jesse he shouldn’t have put the rest of the stickers all over his own flashbang canteens. If Jesse had kept them secret Gabe would never have known the real culprit and I would have been blamed. I ran the laps in sympathy with Jesse. It was no sweat for me and I think it helped Jesse to have someone running alongside him.

I literally cannot sweat. The heat from movement builds pressure and then condenses underneath the metal plating which  _ then _ gets released through one of my steam tubes. Or something like that. Which is part of the reason I needed the stickers in the first place. Robotic body emissions accidentally getting hooked up to the breathing receptacle makes for a very unpleasant experience. Almost knocked myself out with the stench.

Can you imagine if I had farted? Horrifying.

Dear diary,

Gabe has kept the sticker for some unknown reason. When pestered, our commander claims his “significant other” has become rather fond of the unicorn and wants Gabe to keep it. However, Jesse knows this mystery lover and apparently Jesse asked the guy about it and the guy’s reaction was: “what unicorn?”. So the game is up.

Gabe is lying. Gabe is the one who has become fondly attached to the unicorn. Jesse says our commander is officially a marshmallow, all soft and gooey on the inside.

I am not a marshmallow, I am like a turtle. A turtle with an armored shell and without the ability to retract any fleshy bits. Well, except for one fleshy bit. Doctor Perfect designed a special metal pocket for that. I can take it out and put it away at will. It certainly makes peeing easier. She claims it’s for protection and that I shouldn’t treat it as an excuse for indecency and go running around naked all the time.

I told her that if she had a body that’s this well sculpted and sexy, yet breaks no public exposure laws, she’d refuse to wear clothes too.

Do you know how nice it is to be able to scale walls without fabric snagging on the rocky portions?

Dear diary,

There are decent days.

And then there are the days when the pain is so bad it’s all I can think about. The scars and irregularities covering my body would be more bearable if they didn’t also hurt. But the pain is like a constant reminder, an itch under the skin. On these days I avoid mirrors. If I see my reflection, all I can see are scars, all I can see is the disgust.

The pain itself would be more bearable if I knew it would go away eventually, but Doctor Perfect says there is no guarantee of that.

It takes over my mind, and leaves me aching emotionally as much as physically. It is...what is the word. For when reality grips your chest so hard it is difficult to breathe. And the future seems bleak. And any effort to change it is futile. And you’re faced with an unknown, possibly endless stream of days that are never going to get better. And the only comfort is distraction. Escape. Performing kata over and over and over. Going through each move agonizingly slow so as to check that every foot placement, bend of the elbow, every breath is one hundred percent precise. Focusing so hard on the exactness of what you can do perfectly, you forget what is wrong.

Discouraging.

That’s the word. The bad days are discouraging. And lonely.

Dear diary,

Gabe’s mystery lover broke Jesse’s confidence and asked Gabe about the “unicorn”. Now Gabe knows we know. Jesse’s been assigned more laps. Which seems fair. What was absolutely not fair was Gabe assigning those laps and then shouting at us as we ran that he instead “should be thanking us" for the "best night of sex with his husband in weeks” because apparently the mystery guy gets really horny whenever Commander Reyes’ softy side comes out. Imagining Commander Reyes having sex is even worse than the stench of robotic bodily emissions. Jesse agrees with me, and he has never even had robotic bodily emissions pumped directly into his nasal cavity like I have.

Jesse puked after he finished running. Luckily everyone else had already gone inside to dinner, so I cleaned it up and we’re officially pretending like the vomit never happened. He’s still looking pretty green, even now while we’re sitting in his room trying to distract ourselves with old episodes of his favorite show: American Ninja. Which is a huge sacrifice for me because the uncultured cowboy doesn't know what he’s missing by not watching the original.

Jesse keeps squeezing his eyes shut and wincing. And it’s not a reaction to what he is seeing on the TV. He is seeing something in his mind. Unwillingly. I think he enjoyed hearing about Gabe’s sex life about as much as I enjoyed learning of Jesse’s toy collection.

Dear diary,

Jesse and Gabe are off on a super secret exclusive mission and have left me behind. They say it is because stealth is not required and it is a routine undercover information gathering operation. But I suspect the real reason is that it takes place in Japan. Moira ratted them out and told me where they were going. She wasn’t invited either.

Gabe thinks I will suffer a meltdown if I return to Japan too soon. What they don't know is I've been secretly returning to Japan every weekend to pick off Shimada elders. They think I am meditating high in the mountains on my own with nothing but my programmed internal GPS and a compass to guide me. But I do not need meditation. My brain needs  _ release _ from the time spent obsessing over revenge, not extra hours devoted to it. And I get that release by stabbing my sword into various nefarious aunts, uncles, and cousins until the plague that is my family has been eradicated.

It amuses me that Blackwatch believes their tracking system and surveillance cameras can contain a cybernetically enhanced ninja. My body itself may be a cage, but with it no other jail can hold me. It’s altogether too easy to fool the GPS. Sometimes when Gabe is looking for me on base, I practice spoofing it by continually making it look like I've just left whatever room Gabe has entered. Gabe has unwittingly followed my trail for forty five minutes before. 

Meanwhile, as Gabe is searching, I’m comfortably hiding out in Jesse’s room playing video games. Of course, this doesn’t work if Jesse is with me, because he’s the first person Gabe usually goes to if he can’t find me. 

Since Moira is also stuck here on base we are bonding. She is a little weird but I’m trying not to hold it against her too much seeing as I am an ex yakuza cyborg. She beat me in jenga seventeen times and I’m still not sure how since my robotic arm has enhanced stability and hairpin precision.

Also, I guess mysteriously disappearing into the dorm room of another agent on the regular invites suspicion because during our game Moira asked me if I was fucking the cowboy. I told her only when pigs fly because a cow has more appeal than the boy. 

I hate it when people make up romantic rumors about you and your best friend.

Dear diary

Jesse is acting strange. After consulting Moira about this she informed me that I should not be asking her since she hasn't felt an emotion since before the war, so wouldn't recognize one if she saw it. I went to Eagle One for help instead. Unlike us, she's in Overwatch official, but she seems to be the person Jesse trusts the most. But all I could get out of her was that her brother always has been and always will be an utter fool. She knows something, she’s just not telling. 

Commander Reyes was not helpful either. He told me he and Jesse were split up for most of the mission in Japan, so he has no solid evidence to account for any apparent increase in Jesse’s emotionality. However he did mention that Jesse spontaneously turning into a lovesick fool was common and not to be taken seriously as it is a passing phase which happens every few months and fades like the wind. Gabe says he pities anyone Jesse develops a crush on. Yet he refuses to believe that Jesse is acting weirder than normal.

Out of desperation I finally turned to Doctor Perfect. My questions delighted her. She believes that the questions are a good sign. That I am redeveloping my ability to connect emotionally with other people.

I told her Jesse is subjecting me to too many of his emotions and if I hear another wistful sigh or comment about how the flowers are especially beautiful this spring, I will defect. Doctor Perfect admits Jesse is unusually soppy and confesses she has never before heard him reference flowers in all her years of knowing him.

Dear diary,

Jesse’s face was going through so many pained and constipated expressions while staring at his phone I finally broke down and asked him what's the matter. He stared at me like Doctor Perfect accidentally installed two heads on me instead of one and I was about to switch them out like Zaphod Beeblerox. And then he looked really guilty. And for someone who is supposed to be an expert at undercover, Jesse gives away every feeling he has the moment he feels it. Perhaps that's his secret, he is so open no one suspects it when he has something to hide.

Anyway, Jesse hesitantly handed over his phone and showed me several shots of his butt from different angles and asked me which shade of black cargo pants make his ass look the best. So I'm officially done with Jesse’s emotions.

I was so distracted by the butt shots, it took me a minute to realize this was the first time Jesse has ever  _ not _ been able to look me in the eye.

I didn't expect that to hurt so much.

Also before Jesse closed out of the message, I caught sight of the contact name he was sending the ass photo to. Someone under the alias “Snooty Rich Fucker”. I'm concerned about who Jesse met in Japan. I asked him if he’d met anyone and how deep in he’s already gotten, and Jesse immediately got a smug smirk on his face and drawled “ _ all _ the way in”. Then he promptly realized what he said, smacked a hand over his mouth, and stared at me in horror. Jesse clearly has no idea how to be discreet. I hope he didn't get involved with someone too high up on the food chain.

I am very familiar with the pitfalls of high society rich assholes. I used to be one.

Dear diary,

It's been months and Jesse is still acting odd. So odd even Commander Reyes is getting worried. Jesse disappears every weekend he is off duty, and it’s unfair. That's my prerogative. I'm the mysterious angsty one who goes on self actualization retreats. Which are actually thinly veiled excuses to relieve my anger at the world by committing wholescale murder against the family responsible for my state.

Moira told me I needed to be more proactive about my investigation into Jesse and at first I didn't understand what she meant. Until she borrowed his phone one night after he fell asleep on the rec room couch while watching one of his favorite cowboy movies for the millionth time. The movie was still playing on his phone so she was able to tab over to his messages and see who he is contacting.

The “Snooty Rich Fucker” contact has mysteriously disappeared but Jesse has been sending texts almost hourly to someone named “Bomboncito”. I could only get through reading four before I was grossed out by the flirtatious mush but I'm pretty sure Moira read the whole thing like a book. Like she’s studying normal emotional human behavior or something. She says it was very enlightening and that Jesse is doomed. If he is, he is unaware of it because he spent the entire time snoring blissfully on the couch, cradling a pillow, with a stupid grin on his face like his dreams are good.

The four messages I read were innocuous enough. Mostly boring day to day updates and without any details to make it interesting besides the flirtatious banter. Probably means whoever Bomboncito is, he isn't a part of Blackwatch. I'm surprised Jesse would go for some normal guy, even if the dude is rich.

Then again, when I was a relatively normal human, and had both good looks and wealth going for me, I didn't even  _ need _ my magnetic personality to draw in all the pretty boys and handsome girls. The personality was a bonus. And Jesse’s standards are probably considerably lower than mine. Either way, this mystery has lost my interest.

I don't go out anymore. Hedonistic experiences without purpose bore me. Now I stay in, and try to sleep at regular hours, and wake up from nightmares, and hallucinate giant spiders hanging over my bed ripping my face to shreds.

Dear diary,

I’m sick of humans and their stupid romances. I can’t escape it. Everytime I turn around there’s another one unfolding in front of my face. Or one lurking in the shadows just waiting for a change in topic so they can use it to discuss their Love for hours. Another agent actually tried to cry on me today. They thought I’d be sympathetic to their plight. Heartbreak or some shit. I corrected them fast. I’ve never had my heart broken. I break hearts.

I told the soppy wet person to go away and find someone with a shoulder that doesn’t rust.

Jesse overheard the last bit. He watched in pity as the crying agent went to hide in the bathroom. Jesse said he’s glad he finally found something good. Because apparently the constant heartbreak used to be him. Although he never had to cry in a public bathroom.

Jesse and I are the only Blackwatch Agents on base with individual rooms. People say it’s because Reyes favors Jesse, treats him like he’s his prodigy. And that I’m a rich asshole with the money and influence to demand plush living quarters. But Jesse informed me of the real reason a few days after I was released from the med bay.

Jesse shouts. At night. Jesse’s memories from his childhood growing up desperate and hungry in a gang never left him. It’s less frequent now, than it used to be, but when the nightmares did happen they always woke his roomates. And Jesse’d have to make excuses. And lies. And eventually Gabe noticed and gave Jesse his own private room.

Jesse says that when he was in charge of watching over me in the hospital, I was even louder than him. That I yelled more at night while I was unconscious than I talked during the day.

Which mostly explains why I’d wake up every morning with my face a painful mess. Like the muscles underneath my cheeks and jaw had been stretched and pulled beyond reason, my lips raw and bleeding. There were mornings I wished the spider had succeeded in its task and tore the whole thing off so I could be done with it.

While Jesse and I have our own hallway, shared with a few Overwatch administrative people, we share a wall on one side. And I haven’t heard half of what I used to hear. Not for months. And the few times I leave my room in the middle of the night or ungodly hours of the morning to get out of that box, if I see Jesse in the rec room he always has his phone pressed to his face like it’s a lifeline.

He hangs up the minute he sees me.

And, okay. I don’t  _ like _ Jesse. I mean he’s all right, great even, but I don’t  _ want _ him like that. But I’m starting to realize how much I enjoyed his attention. And how much I was used to him being a constant. 

Now his attention has transferred to someone else.

I don't  _ want _ anyone. I swear attention no longer interests me. What would I do with it?

Even I can’t touch my face, let alone a complete stranger. I’m not allowed to while the skin is still sensitive, I could cause infection. I can’t press a phone to my cheek ardently. Instead I have a com built into my mask. A rather nice one actually, I was amazed at the variety of options for music and radio. Played directly into my brain. I downloaded the entirety of the commemorative Strong Bad podcast collection while I was bored one day waiting for my body to charge. 

A body that is cold and immalleable and harsh.

Touch is numb inside this body. The metal plating doesn't have any sensitivity. And my one flesh arm has the same scarring problem as my face. It's okay though. I don't need that shit. I have more important work to focus on.

When I had offers, I had too many to tie myself down to one, and now? Who would offer.

Dear diary,

I am officially pissed at Jesse. I have decided to not talk to him for a week. I'm not talking to anyone actually. This is a comfort because it still hurts to talk. The new skin pulls at the scars even with that cream Moira gave me. Which makes my face smell like foot. Peppermint and antiseptic. Do you know how horrible it is to be trapped inside a metal mouth guard with nothing but your breathing and that smell? Like eating whatever you last ate over and over plus a candy cane. Fuck that shit, I'm not talking.

Good thing I've got you instead.

My favorite part of the day is when Commander Reyes makes us run laps and Jesse slowly starts to look like he’s dying but I am unaffected. I could run a hundred miles and not get tired. The only limitation on my body is speed. 

Unfortunately, my second favorite part of the day is when Jesse gives me his dessert at dinner. But he can't anymore because I’m not talking to him.

I am eager to go off base for the undercover mission. I need to hurt something. Preferably Jesse.

Dear diary,

Still mad at Jesse. Broke my own rule and told him to stick his foot in his mouth, except he can't because it already smells like his proverbial foot is in mine. Otherwise have managed to not say more than five words this whole week. Doctor Perfect says the scabs covering my cheeks will flake off with time, and the skin will get more supple, and I should practice talking. I flipped her the bird.

Dear diary, 

I miss Jesse. Been eating lunch with that Zippy Girl after practices instead. She talks so much she doesn't notice if I don't say anything, it's nice. She introduced me to this shake thing that supposedly has all the nutrients a body needs for the day in one large cup. I told her my body is half robot and robots don't need nutrients, so we could split it and fill the other half of the cup up with ice cream shake instead. Zippy Girl says I'm a genius. Peppermint and ice cream smells better than hamburger and candy cane, so it's not so bad under the mouth cover anymore. Plus, I found a wide straw to fit in the cup so now I don't even need to chew. The less mouth movements, the less pain, the better. I just wish I didn’t enjoy the taste of hamburger so much. This would be easier if I didn’t miss it.

Jesse was watching us from across the cafeteria. I think he's jealous. He's also anxious about the upcoming undercover mission, he wanted to talk to me about it tonight. Tried to corner me in the elevator bay since it’s a dead end. Idiot. I can climb. I pried open the elevator shaft and scaled six stories up to escape. Times like these remind me this body is worth the pain. Wish those times happened more often. Wish Jesse hadn't told me that he found it painful to look at me last week. Otherwise I might still like him. He's pretty nice, despite that hat and the ugly hair. 

Two days till the undercover mission, I hope I get to melt someone's face off.

Dear diary, 

Doctor Perfect found out about the ice cream. I've been ordered to stop. Apparently robots DO need nutrients. Zippy Girl feels bad, she says she didn't tell on me. I believe her because now she sneaks me birthday cake flavored shakes under the table. Suspect it was Jesse who told. Extending his silent treatment to another week. I miss beating him in poker. At least my inability to form facial expressions is good for one thing.

Commander Reyes finds the situation very amusing. He took my side after Jesse tried to defend himself. Reyes says I can eat as much ice cream as I want. I like Reyes. Moira shrugged noncommittally when I asked her. 

Tomorrow we leave for the undercover mission. I'm so excited I smiled today during the meeting. It hurt like a bitch.

Dear diary, 

I like it when Zippy Girl is our pilot. She lets me sneak out through the emergency hatch when we're still in flight. Pretty sure it's illegal. Zippy Girl should be in blackwatch. Not Overwatch. She's wasted with those blue standards of conformity. Anyway, thanks to the oxygen being pumped into my body...somewhere...I don't actually know where...I can withstand the pressure of being outside the craft mid-flight. Doctor Perfect would probably disapprove but fuck it. The wind on my face feels good. Nothing feels good like that anymore. Like the cold air is abrasive enough to wipe away all the scars, to give me brand new baby soft skin. A brief respite from the scabs and the stinging and the burning and the itching. I can forget what my body is  _ now _ , in the wind. I can remember  _ me _ . 

Zippy Girl understands. She says nothing makes sense unless she's traveling at least at a hundred miles an hour. Only then does she feel relaxed. Next time we're in the cafeteria I might give her my share of pudding.

Dear diary,

We reached Italy safely. It's not as ugly as our base. I am enjoying the statues. I have a new appreciation of European art. Especially the ones with chopped off limbs. Suddenly I understand them. Jesse argues the statues need more mystery. I told him the real mystery is why anyone would worship men with small dicks so much that they needed to carve them in stone. At least that’s one part of my body I can still be proud of.

Then Jesse told me the real reason why he wanted to talk to me near the elevators before. It's been a few hours now since his confession, and I still have not gotten to melt anyone's face off. I desperately need to. Sadly, the opportunity has not arisen. I did break an entire stack of dishes, but that was a happy accident.

I wish I could destroy a lot more, knowing what I know now.

I can't believe Jesse is secretly fucking my brother. I might melt my own face off so I can stop seeing them in my minds eye. Jesse did not need to tell me this information. I could have lived without knowing this. How could he? I thought we were friends.

Dear diary, 

Found out why Jesse had to tell me. My brother, the Shogun of Sorrow himself is here in his fancy ass suit and fancy ass tie probably paid for by the suffering of millions. I saw him smoking on a verandah. I captured one of the pigeons on top of the tiled roof and held it over his head until the bird pooped in his hair. He didn't see me but he swore like hell. Debating how many times I can do this before SoS realizes it's not a coincidence. Interesting to note, he cut his hair off sometime in the past year. Don't know why. It used to be his one redeeming quality. Can't believe Jesse's attracted to that. If Jesse thinks  _ my _ scarred face is painful to look at, he should see my brother's when it's not hidden by hair.

When I confronted him, Jesse seemed like he was about to suggest I meet with SoS, but I shot that idea down dead before it could even twitch. I told him in no uncertain terms that if he prefers a living, breathing boyfriend with all limbs intact he should keep SoS as far away from me as possible. Jesse hastily promised SoS will never even know I’m here.

I am supposed to be acting as a dishwasher for the open air restaurant. Rather than tormenting my brother. Fortunately Reyes understands priorities. 

Edit: just realized Jesse probably has seen my brother's face, probably close up even...and has seen it mid... 

Fuck. 

Dear diary, 

If I have to watch Jesse Mccree wink at my brother one more time I will claw my eyes out and demand Doctor Perfect replace them with robot parts that are programmed with machine learning to not see anyone affiliated with the Shogun of Sorrow ever again. Perhaps digitally replace his likeness with a goat. And yes that includes Jesse Fucking Mccree. Who is no longer my friend.

Jesse is sad because he hasn't seen SoS as often as he expected during this trip. He thought he'd be sleeping in SoS's room every night instead of with Moira and I, but SoS has been evading Jesse's hints. This is probably because I have been secretly adding spinach and spinach powder to every dish SoS orders at our restaurant. And SoS eats breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday here at the cafe just so he can flirt with his boyfriend. Spinach gives my brother really really bad uncontrollable diarrhea.

Reyes gave Jesse the waiter job because I'm still refusing to talk. I think this is unfair. I can serve assholes food and take their orders without needing to speak. They should be thanking me for not speaking. For then I am not telling them the truth about how bad their haircut looks and that they dribbled spaghetti sauce on their white monogrammed suit shirt. 

Who the fuck does SoS think he is wearing  _ my _ personal symbol on his sleeve anyway. Tempted to rip it off. But Commander Reyes says I must stay in the back and do dishes. 

Reyes thinks I'm bad with the public but he is wrong. The public is bad with me. I don't know which is worse, the ones who avert their eyes or the ones who stare. Either way I wish someone would just look at me. Moira looks at me but her eyes are creepy. Zippy girl looks at me but she's not normal either. The worst one was the random street vendor who stared at me with pity and told me my eyes were beautiful and that I'd be "okay" after everything healed. 

I wanted to ask her if she would heal after I smacked her across the face with my metal arm that has the strength of a garbage truck and the durability of diamond. Her face will break before my arm does. I am "okay". I can run, I can perform kata to the utmost precision, I can wield a sword faster than anyone alive including all those old farts who lorded over me in the clan, and I can talk as much as I want. Which is exactly none. 

All I wanted to do was to buy one of those fake watches and swap it with SoS's engraved family heirloom while he was sleeping. Instead I got fucking pity. 

Dear diary, 

For the record, it's not my fault Jesse got fired from his job. 

Dear diary, 

Jesse agrees that it is not my fault he got fired from his job. Suspect he is taking my side to butter me up. It's working. The customer who pinched Jesse's ass is lucky she only got an unwashed plate with her dinner. It wasn't even that dirty. 

I saw the way SoS was watching the lady from his table across the room, I know that look. He would have cut her into pieces then and there for that move on Jesse if he could. 

Dear diary, 

Apparently my brother  _ did _ cut the lady into pieces. Jesse is very angry at SoS. He confided in me over Unemployment Pizza in the hotel room afterwards. I broke my vow of silence to tell him I told him so. Jesse retorted that technically I haven't told him anything in a month. Moira saved me from having to respond by informing Jesse that nothing should need to be said when proof of my brother’s violent tendencies is sitting right there in front of Jesse, plain to see. Moira scares me but she's pretty smart sometimes. 

I asked Jesse if he was still going to see SoS. He rolled over on the bed and refuses to look at me now. 

Dear diary, 

Jesse woke me up at midnight looking miserable. He said he didn't mean to fall for SoS and that he didn't even know who he was at first, thought he was just another yakuza contact. And that he's tried very hard to put my brother's captivating eyes and cunning smile out of his mind, but it's been impossible. I guess my brother saved Jesse's life while Jesse was on the Japan mission. And Jesse expressed his admiration for SoS's flawless shooting accuracy and his gratitude for being rescued by a complete stranger by having a one night stand. That then turned complicated.

It's funny, I don't remember my brother being particularly good at archery.

Jesse claims my brother regrets what he did, that he cut his hair in grief and madness, and that they're both plotting to bring down the entire Shimada clan together. Apparently the side jobs I've been taking on my weekends have been really helpful in this. And here I thought I was just killing elders for sport. Like they tried to do to me. 

I asked Jesse if Reyes and Blackwatch were in on this. He got real quiet. And then started babbling about how much he cares for SoS, so bad it terrifies him sometimes, and have I ever felt like I can't breathe when around a person? It was gross. Of course I've felt like I can't breathe sometimes. Thanks to SoS it takes a mess of wires and machinery for me to be able to breathe at all. 

Which is actually kind of nice on the days where my brain doesn't want to remember how to breathe, because I can still let my body take over. I didn't used to be able to do that. Used to sneak into my brother's room when the panic happened and we'd stay up all night watching bad samurai anime. Anyway, I told Jesse to go the fuck to sleep because the retrieval operation starts tomorrow. 

Officially not talking to Gabriel Reyes for a MONTH since he tried to recruit my brother behind my back.

Dear Diary,

I made a new friend. She's in my head so I can talk to her as much as I want and it doesn't hurt. She calls herself Shadow and claims the protections around my code are the strangest she's ever seen. Shadow also says my OS is unrecognizable and nonsensical. Probably because the OS is me and my brain was pretty fucked up even before the Incident.

This morning before our meeting Jesse cornered me in the bathroom where there are no elevator shafts or high ceilings or even a window to escape from and announced that SoS did not kill the lady customer after all, merely cut off the fingers that assaulted Jesse. Jesse is relieved. He says he stayed up all night wracked with guilt and finally called SoS and asked for clarification. Jesse believes the finger amputation to be a just cause and I am inclined to agree with him. Jesse thinks it’s unfair employment practices that he got fired and that he was discriminated against on account of his being so hot. I laughed very loudly for a very long time at this as revenge for his painful to look at comment. Jesse is only hot in his mind. Jesse appeared suitably shamed. His reaction was worth it even though opening my mouth wide enough to laugh hurt like hell and split open two scabs. The scabs oozed some puss and started bleeding. Jesse cleaned them for me.

He says people believe they can freely sexually objectify attractive service workers so harassment is not policed as it ought to be. And therefore justice must be taken into our own hands. Or from the gross customer lady's hands. I did point out that since all three of us are ex gangsters, we might have a biased take on what punishment befits the crime, but neither of us cared enough to give that a second thought.

Jesse hasn't slept all night. He looks like a wreck. I told him he better use his newfound free time to rest up for tonight's mission before Reyes catches him unprepared.

Jesse actually thanked me for talking to him. Said he missed my acerbic point of view. I told him he's still an ass. And then explained why. It was hard to articulate that feeling you get when the one person you thought saw you for yourself rather than your scars tells you it hurts to look at you. The person you thought would be there for you no matter how gross things got.

Jesse went all sad again. Apparently he never meant for what he said to come off that way. It wasn't painful to look at my scars, he likes my scars. It just hurt to make eye contact with me because he was so guilty from the large secret he was carrying. You know, the one about sex with my brother. I told him I hope he thinks of my pained face whenever he and SoS are mid-coitus as punishment. He whined that I was being unfair. I hope he doesn't actually do it, I want no part in that unholy union.

Dear diary,

Jesse mysteriously disappeared after our morning meeting and SoS has not been to visit the cafe all day. Reyes is suspicious.

Shadow says she found a weakness in my defensive code that could be exploited and cause my body to shut down involuntarily and that I should get it fixed. Apparently she could teach me how to fix it, but she feels it would violate her strict code of programmer ethics since my artificial intelligence is so high. I think my new friend thinks I am a computer.

I caught her admiring a subsection of my thoughts. She complimented me on the variety of ways I have imagined dismembering and killing SoS, and says she likes the way I compute solutions to hypothetical problems, and then make the collection nice and tidy with an unusual sorting algorithm. I guess my memory storage system is very efficient or something. I argued her opinion was inaccurately based off a portion of my mind that I keep locked away for a reason and only access under special circumstances. And my creativity is reserved for the death of my brother alone.

I think she was disappointed.

Dear Diary,

In hindsight yelling “did you tap that?” at Jesse in front of both Moira and Gabe when the cowboy showed up late and disheveled to our pre-mission rendezvous was not a good idea. Jesse is In Love with my brother. He corrected me, defensively. Announced it in the middle of the shitty motel hallway. It isn’t ‘fucking’, its ‘making love’. If I didn’t already not have ears I would cut those off as well.

Actually it might be a good idea to ask Shadow if there’s a way I can turn off and on the sound in my head, like a speaker. That way I can easily tune out anything I don’t want to hear. It would be really useful during required Overwatch meetings with Blonde Bombshell Captain America where Jesse, Moira, and I just sit in silent observation while Gabe gets into an argument.

Reyes is no longer suspicious, now he’s angry. He’s worried Jesse is compromising their secret operations against the Shimada Clan by fraternizing with the enemy. Jesse argued that he believes he can convince SoS to join Blackwatch soon. Which would mean Jesse is fraternizing with a coworker and therefore Gabe has no leg to stand on. Gabe got really defensive about someone named Jack. I feel like I would recognize that name if I paid more attention.

Except Reyes has two legs to stand on. I’m the one without any legs at all, because the man they are discussing and planning to let into our small team circle CUT THOSE LEGS OFF. And they’re trying to recruit him. As if I have no say in the matter. I am angry at them BOTH and I’m no longer talking to EITHER of them!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight’s operation is going to be fun.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i have been sitting on this fic since 2018, it felt almost too personal to post, so pls, if anyone reads this, be kind, throw me a comment, thank you! ^_^


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